


Northern Lights

by justanemptydream



Category: SHINee, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, auras!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-12 02:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10480401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanemptydream/pseuds/justanemptydream
Summary: In a world that strives for homologation and demolishes any sign of individualism, Park Jimin is nothing but an outcast since the very early years of his life for he can see people’s auras in shade of colors that tell him so much about their personalities; all it takes is a glimpse of their true colors in the form of colored energy that surrounds them as northern lights in the night sky, to know even their darkest secret. He has learned the hard way that his ability is something it’s better to hide, to deny for he has no desire to be deemed as crazy. He has learned that solitude is a far better place to live in and he’s determined to not let anyone inside his walls. That is until she comes and asks him what her color is. And that’s when he decides pink is his new favorite shade.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **▽ Word Count:** 2.030 K  
>  **▽ AN:** this story finds its origin in a dream I had after listening non stop for hours to [“Colors” by Halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGulAZnnTKA) (listen to it, it’s a beautiful song).

**P R O L O G U  E**

The sand is warm against his feet, infiltrating between his toes as he puts the whole pressure of his body on them, sighing in relief as the warmth engulfs him whilst his eyes fix on the cerulean expanse in front of him. His knees push against his ribcage as he encircles his legs with his small hands, his chin resting on the bare sun-kissed skin whilst the sea waves fill his ears erasing all the mean voices swirling in his rattled mind.  
This is his safe haven, the desolated coast where no one will approach him, disturb him or accuse him of being  _crazy_ , an outcast that this world will never be ready to comprehend or accept.  
Park Jimin is a peculiar ten-year-old boy whose best friends are shriveled books that won’t ever point a finger at him but, instead, welcome him in the worlds enclosed between the yellowish pages. Books don’t lie, don’t mock and most of all: they don’t have anything secret to reveal behind what’s already there.  
He has learned the hard way that solitude is a far better place to live in when you hold in your heart a secret so ludicrous not a single person is ready to believe what you say it’s the utmost truth. Not even the people that claim to be your parents, and therefore supposedly able to love you no matter what abilities you’re born with.  
In his ten years of life, he has learned that people lie quietly often and expect to get away with it by being exceptionally eloquent with their words. They always doubt someone is going to be able to see right through them, especially when they are under a kid’s gaze. They do not believe because they fear a reality where someone could spill all their darkest secrets with a simple glimpse in their direction. Deeming him insane is nothing but a convenient approach to dismiss the real matter.  
In a society that strives for homologation and demolishes any sign of individualism, there’s simply no place for someone like him, for he’s a nuisance, an inconvenience, an error in the perfect structure of what is claimed to be human and mundane.Park Jimin is a good kid, well educated, a top student – not because he particularly likes to study or seeks perfection and recognition but simply because he has no better alternative than dwell into knowledge and words that can bring peace to his otherwise bewildered mind. He would qualify Wilde and Dostoevsky as his acquaintances and Dickens as his best friend if someone would care to ask him; he’s familiar with the greatest classical music operas and he has a passion for black and white movies that he not always comprehends to their fullest potential but that still gives him a good perspective on what society looked like before and how it has shaped through time to become what he’s been endowed with.  
He inhales deeply the saltiness smell of the placid water before him, his lids closing shut for the briefest of moments as he indulges in the peace that surrounds him now, dividing him completely from the world full of people that don’t want anything to do with a kid that knows perfectly well the difference between carmine and burgundy and that can name every single hue of color ever known to mankind.  
The thing is: shades make all the difference in the world when they belong to people’s auras for the darker the tone, the stronger the feeling. Therefore, the thin line between wine and mahogany is essential when you’re trying to save your life for, one is dangerous and the latter is lethal. They call it auras, that colored energy he sees surrounding every human being he has ever met – including his reflection in the mirror – but he likes to address it as northern lights for they appear as strings of light as vibrant as those phenomena in the arctic circle’s night skies.  
He has grown accustomed to his loneliness and the walls that surround him are rendered impregnable by the deep conviction that no one will ever be able to understand how the world appears when met by his gaze so, when she approaches him with her frisky walk – eyes sparkling with curiosity and a mint ice cream cone in her tiny pale hand – he’s more than reluctant at the thought of sharing a conversation with another individual, especially when it looks like she’s more or less his age, because he has learned that kids are often more brutal than adults since the line between good and bad is still extremely thin in their conscience.  
He doesn’t register the sparkling light surrounding her or, to be more exact, he decides to purposely ignore it and focuses on the tiny sky blue dress she’s wearing and the way her long hair flutter in the hot summer air. Her lips are curved into a cute smile that he deems devilish for he knows that the more innocent they look, the ruthless they are.  
“Hello,” her voice is high pitched, betraying her excitement as she sits unceremoniously right next to him offering him her mint flavored treat as a sign of peace.  
He diverts his gaze, focusing back on the sea in front of them and ponders the idea of getting on his two feet and run far away from the menace she represents to his peace of mind.  
“You don’t like mint ice cream?” she chirps at his lack of response and wiggles her toes in the sand trying to find a better approach to cross his defenses and obtain whatever she wants from him.  
She hums for a whole minute, distractingly licking her refreshing cone of ice cream, her shoulder brushing almost unnoticeably against his own. And he wouldn’t really have noticed their proximity if he wasn’t so hyper-aware of her presence and, much to his dismay, scared of the words that could leave her pretty mouth.  
“You’re Park Jimin, right?” she questions all of a sudden, her eyes focusing entirely on his face making the heat drain from his features for he knows all too well what comes next after that question and he is so not ready to hear a kid, a peer, calling him crazy or freak once again. He wonders if his haven has now been breached and violated forever therefore rendered useless for future emergencies.  
“What if I am?” his voice is stern as he hugs his legs to his chest with more strength, his eyes still avoiding to land on her figure because he really doesn’t want to know what her intentions are and he can’t ignore the swirling light surrounding her for too long once his eyes settle on her.  
“Is it true that you can see ghosts?!” her voice rises two octaves making his ears hurt with her uncontainable incitement.  
“I don’t see ghosts,” he retorts, sounding quite offended with the preposterous rumor people attached to him.  
“Oh,” that’s all she says but he doesn’t fail to notice the disappointment in her voice as she realizes she went through all the trouble for nothing.  
“So…you can’t see my mom, right?”  
He gives her a side glance, long enough to register the sad expression that twists her delicate features, before sighing letting his eyes wander to the horizon once again, humming his response in the hope this will make her leave him alone for good.  
“I see,” he doesn’t know why the chagrin in her voice sends a sting down his heart; it’s not like he ever wanted to impress someone with the gift he was born with but, in this very moment, he’d like to shout out at the winds his ability and make her realize how grand her mistake was and most especially how much cooler auras can be compared to dead spirits.  
“I was hoping you could tell me if she was happy or not,” her voice is so small as she says so, his eyes are once again drawn to her frail figure, “I worry a lot that she may feel lonely or sad.”    
It's only at that moment that he realizes the fact that her mother must have died and even though his own is very much alive, he can understand the feeling of loss her absence may have created for, his own mother is nothing but a physical presence that is there and absents at the same time. He doesn’t know what motherly love feels like and if he ever did he has no recollection of it since it was very clear once he discovered his talent that love was not meant for him in any form.  
“Sorry for your loss,” his tone is flat as he says so and it makes him flinch upon realizing that he just said it because it’s a social norm, something he was taught he has to say whether he means it or not, and it goes against everything he ever stood up for.  
“So…” she purposely ignores his response and drifts into her own thoughts before asking the question he was praying she’d never come up with, “If you don’t see ghosts… what is exactly that you see?”  
His first instinct would be to deny, to run and hide in the confined space of his bedroom and forget this ever happened for he’s tired of the mockery and the words that usually accompany his mild tentative of making someone else understand the nature of his gift. He has learned that it's easier that way, that the game is not worth the candle anyway, but he decides that his house is not a place he wants to end up to right now so, reluctantly, he whispers his response.  
“I see people’s auras.”  
There’s almost an entire minute of utter silence upon his confession and just when he’s starting to feel like silence it’s worse than thousands of insults and something akin to a small torture, she speaks again, her voice soft and rather insecure.  
“What are auras?”  
Sometimes he forgets that kids his age are not well acquainted with the things he has seen and has come to know since they are not meant to be for a youngster’s mind anyway, therefore it takes a few minutes for him to come up with an answer she could possibly understand.  
“It’s like… the color of your soul,” he murmurs, his voice hushed by the fear lodged deep within his heart, now rampant in his chest; his knuckles turn white as his small hands close into fists, the remaining of his explanation leaving his lips in a soft whisper, “But it changes when you feel something strong like… fear or anger.”  
At this point, the response is usually pure mockery, laughter, accusations of being the weirdest kid to ever walk the earth, the finger points that make him feel as little and insignificant as an ant. But she doesn’t do any of the sorts, she just stares at him for a whole minute, pondering, taking him in and making him feel like he’s going to shrink inside himself if he keeps pushing his knees onto his ribs like that.  
“What color am I?” she blurts out all of a sudden and it would be the understatement of the year to say Jimin wasn’t utterly shocked by the question for it’s the very first time someone thought of asking that or even cared about it in the first place.  
He feels his chest constrict almost painfully, his lips falling agape as a long shiver runs down his spine and a feeling he’s not familiar with broadens in his heart.  _Hope_.  
His eyes focus on her figure once again, his attention already captured by her angelic features, and sure enough it takes only a small fraction of a second for the light to burst into life around her figure, engulfing her completely, the color shining beautifully under his gaze tugging at the corner of his lips to form a little smile he wasn’t aware he was still able to provide.  
“You’re pink,” he whispers upon realizing that no shade of color was ever prettier than that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **▽ Word Count:** 8.435 words  
>  **▽ AN:** this story finds its origin in a dream I had after listening non stop for hours to “Colors” by Halsey (listen to it, it’s a beautiful song). 
> 
>  
> 
> **▽ WARNINGS: mention of alcohol, swear words, pining, mention of anxiety and panic attacks, metaphors that allude to wounds and weaponry.**

**C H A P T E R 1**

 

The whiff of alcohol and bodies sweating on the dance floor is what fills your nose whilst you sit in the corners, out of prying eyes, your shoulder slightly touching his as you calmly sway to the tempo in the background, the beer long forgotten in your red cup as your eyes keep roaming on the packed room searching for your next ‘victim’.  
  
It’s a regular Friday night and one of the many parties you attended to in the past college year in the big city, not because you particularly like the interactions nor the mood that fills these nights, and even though they all look alike and always lead to the same result every damn time – nausea, headaches, random people sleeping right next to you – you still go to most of them for one very simple reason: he enjoys it.  
  
Your eyes focus on a guy dancing at the very far end of the room, his movements too uncoordinated to belong to a sober person and, with a click of your tongue, you call back his attention on you.  
  
“What about that dude over there?” you point your finger at the very drunk fellow student and smile bemusedly when Jimin’s eyes fix on your chosen one.  
  
He chuckles before gulping down the remainder of his drink, his bright pink hair clouding his vision for a second as he tilts his head to the side, pensive.  
  
“He’s the exact color of his vomit tomorrow morning,” his eyes move back on you and he smirks devilishly for he knows how easy it is to get you worked up with the sole mention of sickening colors.  
  
“Eww,” you close your eyes as you feel the disgust wash over you at the vivid image that invaded your mind at his words, “You’re gross!” 

“You asked!” he quips back before breaking into a fit of giggles that sounds a bit too intoxicated to your ears, a clear signal that he has had a far bigger amount of drinks than you.  
  
You would never admit it out loud, let alone to him, but there’s nothing that makes you happier than being right next to him – the sole keeper of his secret in the vastness of the capital city – and indulge into the little game you have been playing since you were little kids, always held in the darkest niches of the room and away from ears that can catch up on the fathomless secret and revamp the telltale reaction forged to skin him to the very bone.  
  
The world seen with Park Jimin’s eyes is a color spectrum of millions of shades that hold in them the diversity of the human kind and, it’s somewhat between unbelievable and fascinating for your rather mundane eyesight that leaves you with no option but to dwell in the vivid sparks of your imagination.  
  
You rivet on the crowd once again to seek the next person to subject to his scrutiny and that’s when you see her waltz in, her strut gaudy and most certainly deadly for not only the males and females that surround her but, most importantly, for the very person sitting right next to you.  
  
You pray with all your heart that he’s not going to notice, that his eyes won’t meet the perfect curve of her body whilst she passes right in front of you for, once he does, there won’t be anything else interesting enough to grab his attention.  
  
It is not important, at the current moment, that the real problem is not your undoubtedly unrequired feelings for him and the lack of thereof from his part for, childishly enough, you deem the bane of your existence in the small – dressed in black velvet – figure of Kang Seulgi.  
  
She is, by his definition, a saturated sunrise, her aura shifting from salamander to strawberry ending up in a boysenberry-mulberry mix that makes her the epitome of perfection for his infatuated eyes.  
  
It’s nothing short of pure envy and jealousy that runs through your veins every time you lay your eyes upon her because, she not only has the beauty that would grant her a modeling job, but also the perfect gradient of colors that make her the absolute ideal of a girl he could ever wish for.  
  
It's with utter queasiness that you watch his gaze wash over the packed room and meet the deadly curve of Seulgi’s silhouette between the nameless bodies dancing and orbiting around her, almost as if she was the sun. The moment his eyes close on her, focusing on the radiating rainbow of colors that make her the attraction she is, you know your night might as well be over for he is, to put it simply, you’re one and only friend. The cons of growing up as thick as thieves it’s that you no longer know how to function as your own person, your personality long merged with his own and, by now, you no longer hold a clear separation of what is you and what is him.  
  
Of course, the need for someone else to call your friend never occurred to you up until this very moment for he was your only companion as much as you were his. You were always a pair, a one plus one deal and, for the longest of times, that was enough to make the both of you happy.  
  
It’s been twelve months since you packed your life in small pretty bags and took the train that from your hometown, Busan, brought you to the very core of the Country where life is so fast no one has enough time to stop and look at you or bother to get to know you better. It was the perfect option, the escapade he needed to distance himself from a city that never loved him or wanted him in the first place. It was his opportunity to leave all things ugly behind and start anew somewhere where he didn’t have a past or a secret or an ability nobody deemed real. He could finally be Park Jimin, just another twenty-year-old boy trying to figure out what to do with his life. It didn’t even take a full second for you to agree into moving to the big city with him; he barely had to ask since you had realized way back the span of your feelings towards the boy.  
  
Only now, when he opened up to other people, when he no longer represents a satellite into your existence, you realize how far deep the roots of love reside in your heart.  
  
His face lights up as his chocolate gaze fixes upon her and your heart constricts painfully in your chest making you wince on the spot the second he gets up from his seat, the excitement so clear in the way he moves you do not need the ability to see his aura to know exactly what is running through his mind, heart and body.  
  
He turns towards you, his smile beaming and, if the cause of it wasn’t the sight of Kang Seulgi, you’d deem it the prettiest thing you have ever seen for his eyes close into crescent moons and his face completely lights up sending waves of warmness in your stomach.  
  
“Quick, how do I look?”  
  
The fake smile that creeps on your lips at his antics seems credible enough to his eyes for he doesn’t comment on it and doesn’t address the possible change into the color of the aura that surrounds you – truly, he hardly ever said anything about it changing color before, no matter how many times you asked him if it was any different according to your mood – and just tilts his head to the side whilst biting his bottom lip in nervousness.  
  
“You look great, don’t worry,” it is not a blatant lie although it sounds like one when the words sound strangled as they leave your mouth because you already know what is going to happen once you give him exactly what he wants.  
  
“Ok, wish me luck, Pinky!” he beams again right before planting a soft kiss on the side of your cheek, the playful and soft contact enough to set your skin ablaze, and before you can even utter another word he has gone as fast as the wind.  
  
The nickname leaves an aching twinge in your heart that forces you to close your eyes, the desire to disappear into the pitch-black floor getting stronger as he keeps getting further and further away.  
  
There was a time when that little nickname he gave to you made you feel all giddy and warm; there was a time you could feel butterflies flicker in your stomach at the sweet undertone of his voice calling for you but, in this moment, it’s just pure unmitigated pain for you know now that it is the embodiment of the friendship that links you two and that it will  _never_  represent anything more than that. There was also a time you thought his bright pink hair, the very one you’re watching now amidst the sea of brown heads, was a signal of his deep feelings towards you and a physical declaration of devotion towards the color of your soul. Time, though, has taught you otherwise, so even that hurts now. In fact, everything about Park Jimin has turned from enchanting to unadulterated torment.  
  
You always thought you were meant to be together, you with your rose-pink soul and him with his emerald-green one. What you failed to remember, though, is that complementary colors only enhance each other whilst standing next to one another. You are just like parallel lines, meant to always be together but not to merge for when you put these colors together, mix them, they nullify each other into nothingness. You were doomed from the very first day and, you realize this once again the moment his body is no longer close enough to warm up your own and his voice is no longer audible in the sea of cacophonic sounds.  
  
You become aware of how intoxicated you actually feel from the alcohol that runs in your veins, the foul taste in your mouth enough to make you gag on thin air. Or maybe, it is the sight of her smile, directed only at him, that makes your insides constrict in very unpleasant ways.  
  
The music is loud in your ears but you still feel like silence surrounds you in a deafening swell, ready to engulf you in and completely drown you into depressing thoughts you should at least try to keep away. It is always the same: he leaves and you suffocate inside your own mind, unable to fend for yourself against the darkness of your own spinning thoughts.  
  
There was a time when you were his anchor, the only one able to defend him, the strong rock and pillar stone of his existence and then, it all shifted. Now, you’re the kid sitting alone at the beach, pretending not to care about everyone else in the world.  
  
You try not to look at them, you try to indulge on anyone else  _but_  them, yet, inevitably, your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet and when you find him, his body firmly pressed against Seulgi’s dazzling figure, that’s when you feel the first sting of tears pooling in your eyes and cloud your vision. It is, after all, a first time for you.  
  
Park Jimin has taken into a liking Kang Seulgi from the very first lesson they shared together in college – the way her aura sparkled in front of his eyes enough to make him completely fall head-over-heels for her – but it was not until barely thirty days ago that she started to give him her full attention. It had started with a simple “hello” while exiting your classroom and, from there, it had bloomed gradually right in front of your eyes. And now, it wasn’t all just a rapid sequence of random phrases that they shared, it was a concrete exchange of meanings behind the lines of what they dared to say to each other and what they hoped the other would catch on. It’s moving fast, so fast you don’t know what to do stop the poison spreading in your chest, intoxicating your heart, leading you to the very certain heartbreak at the end of the line.  
  
His hips sway to the rhythm of the song and she lets him guide him, his hand firmly pressed against her side, his gaze fixed on nothing else but her – the apple of his eye – the tension between their bodies so evident, it stirs something uncomfortable in the pit of your stomach.  
  
The sigh that leaves your mouth comes off more like a wheeze; the clear sign that you’re about to make a fool out of yourself by crying at a stupid college party. Of course, half of what swirls inside your heart and mind is stirred by the toxic liquor that drowns your thoughts in a sea of misery but, you would be lying to yourself if you said this never happened before when you were completely and undoubtedly sober.  
  
“I must be dreaming,” the disembodied voice resonating too loud next to you to be intended for anyone else but you, successfully stop the stream of thoughts menacing to suck you up alive then and there.  
  
“Where’s your homeboy?” the slight banter in his voice is what gives his identity away before you can even turn in his direction.  
  
Your gaze leaves the dancefloor and focuses on the pale boy sitting right next to you: his pitch-black hair stylized to make him look like he just came out from a photo shoot; his slouched off sitting posture on the brownish sofa making him look like he doesn’t have a care in the world – and for the most part you actually believe that’s the sheer simple truth – and his mouth twisted into a playful smirk that probably looks fascinating to many but that only appears as taunting to you.  _Lee Taemin_.  
  
If somebody asked you to describe Lee Taemin using only three words, you’d address him as the very ‘cliché rich kid’ that every movie or book somehow chooses to always throw amongst the covey of characters. Truth be told, it wouldn’t be fair to him to define him with that sole label for, he isn’t the embodiment of the rich douchebag you’d took him to be the very first time you laid eyes upon him.  
  
He is, in fact, a very witty person with an interesting and keen mind. He’s not one to slack off when it comes down to pave the pavement for his future – even if it is pretty much already waiting for him at the end of the line – and you’d actually describe him as a hard-working man that doesn’t take advantage of his family status to build himself a career and an enviable knowledge. He is, by far, the most driven person you have ever encountered.  
  
But when it comes down to Taemin, being fair is not the first instinct you get. He has a way of pushing all your buttons the wrong way, twisting the knife in the wound until he can actually see you wince at his poor wording choice – that is most likely very calculated and not the fruit of a careless misstep – and if it wasn’t for the way he likes to pick on you, you’d probably even like him. It’s been a month since he took an interest in you and ever since the first time he approached you he had been studying you, evidently so, trying to peel off of you layer after layer of years spent building up walls around you so nobody would see the very core of your existence. Taemin, however, seems to manage to see right through you as you were made of crystal water and that’s the ulterior motive behind your apparent enmity towards him.  
  
“How would I know, I’m not his babysitter,” is what you choose to response, the acid in your mouth palpable even in the words you voice out with an unnecessary force that betrays your sentiment on the lack of his presence.  
He snorts in return, his eyes entirely fixed on you, scrutinizing you in that studying way you hate so much it makes your blood boil and your vision turn red.  
  
“What do you want, exactly?” there’s disdain in the way you talk to him but, truthfully, you are partially glad he has joined you for, now, you are not alone with your thoughts anymore and, unpleasant as it may be, his presence still provides a successful distraction.  
  
He tilts his head to the side, the playful smirk that curves his lips still very present while he studies your face a second more before deciding to focus his attention on the people filling the dancefloor and the mingling antics they enact.  
You take the opportunity to study him as well – sustaining a gaze never being your forte – and you take in his black pants, rigorously torn apart in front of his knees, and black shirt so adherent you can decipher the outline of his chest even in the dim light; the look is completed by a blue jean jacket suitably worn to break the jet look.  
  
“Like what you see?” his silvery voice breaks through your thoughts once again bringing your attention to his face and his onyx gaze fixed upon you, yet again.  
You snort loudly enough for some people next to you to turn around, their eyes moving fast from your insignificant self to the young man sitting right next to you. He is, so to speak, a celebrity among the college students. He’s well known by everyone who has a modicum of social life and, he’s not only admired and envied by many, he’s also the type of person people fawn over.  
  
His admirers do not satellite around him only for his physical appearance but, most importantly, for the cash that resides in his left pocket – kindly offered by his position as the second-heir in line for the heritage of Lee Corporation.  
  
You’re not sure if he can see the fire dusting your cheeks but you can most definitely feel the burning sensation on your face and, out of sheer shyness, you focus your gaze right in front of you again, pretending the dancefloor holds the most interesting scenery you ever witnessed.  
  
That’s when your eyes meet the dreadful scene you so wish you never would have laid eyes upon. Your gaze falls on the brightness of his pink head and you catch the little tilt of his head right before the plumpness of his lips falls on the smiling and inviting mouth of Kang Seulgi. It’s nothing more than a peck, an uncertain kiss that dust his face with roses – you imagine – and makes his heartbeat rampant in his chest upon taking the courage to finally come forward with his already evident feelings.  
  
It’s a sight that makes your heart miss a beat and that completely hollows your chest leaving you frozen in place, rotting on the inside with each passing second, for now, there is really no light at the end of the tunnel. There’s no more hope, not even the tiniest drop, and all you’re left with is the desire to disappear in the pitch darkness of your bedroom and never come out of it again.  
  
It’s out of an impulse that you jump to your feet, the room becoming too packed for your lungs to properly take in air, your ears buzzing as you struggle to find the oxygen to keep you functioning, and take one uncertain step after the other until you meet the door and swing it open to be engulfed in the thick cold air of the night.  
  
You close your eyes, your breathing ragged as you try to erase any trace of the scene that just happened, trying to address it as an alcohol-induced hallucination, something you can avoid deeming real for at least ten more hours or so.  
  
“Hey, are you ok?” the voice pierces through the ringing of your ears and forces you to open your eyes. For a moment, you wish it was  _him_ , you wish he had heard the sound of your heart breaking into pieces and ran to you to pick up and glue together what was left of it. Your eyes, though, meet the worried gaze of Lee Taemin and your bottom lip quivers helplessly at the realization that even this, will never happen.  
  
“Breathe for me, ____,” he takes your face in his hands forcing you to keep your eyes fixed in his, his breathing slow as he tries to guide your own to meet his peaceful rhythm.  
  
Slowly your lungs start to fill with air again, the movement almost foreign to your body, the sudden intake of oxygen making your chest hurt, threatening to send your senses back into overdrive.  
  
“Keep looking at me,” his voice is deep but it still holds that sweet soothing undertone to it and you find yourself cling to it as if it was the key to your salvation.  
  
“Good, just like that, princess,” the smile that graces his lips somehow looks reassuring now, instead of taunting, and it makes the little nickname sound endearing to your ears. Or maybe it’s just the need to feel somewhat relevant to someone that is not Park Jimin.  
  
“It’s ok, let it all out,” it’s only when he speaks again, the reassuring words that leave his mouth calming down the restless pumping of your heart, that you realize the tears that stream down your eyes with the force of a waterfall once the dyke is open or, in this case, fractured, crumbling down until it’s reduced to nothing but dust.  
  
Normally, your ego would prevent you to show the weakest side of you to anyone but, the haywire status you’re reduced to glosses over every self-respecting action you’d normally use in a vain attempt to protect yourself.  
  
That, in your mind, is the only explanation as to why you let him hug you tight to his chest when on any other occasion, you’d push him away – daring him to try and touch you again – and even encircle his lean figure with your arms, grasping his jacket with your trembling hands in an attempt to keep what’s left of you held together, hoping for salvage in the sea of pain that surrounds you.  
  
You cry miserably in his chest until it feels like you’ll never be able to produce any more tears for the rest of your life. Your eyes dry but the pain remains there, squeezing your heart with every breath you take.  
  
Your arms fall flat against your sides, releasing him from the firm grip that trapped him around you, and he lets go as well, a small encouraging smile gracing his features as he caresses your head in something you depict as affectionate.  
  
“Better?” he asks, his hand tracing the outline of your cheek whilst capturing some of the dried tears with his thumb. All you do is nod in response, all of your energy already drained, your head heavy with a hint of the severe ache that will reside there when you’ll wake up in the morning.  
  
“It’s probably not my place to say this and you can tell me to go to hell for saying it but,” he lets go of your face, a deep sigh interrupting his utterance as he tries to process his own thoughts, probably seeking for a better wording to express his opinion on the matter, “You shouldn’t be pining over someone like him.”  
His face twists into what you address as a pissed expression, something you never witnessed on his features before, “Hell, you shouldn’t be pining over  _anyone_.”  
  
He is absolutely right: it is none of his business and it’s only out of thankfulness that you don’t turn on him with all the spite you feel growing in your chest, corrupting all your feelings until nothing positive is left there. Of course, he would know the exact cause of your breakdown,  _of-fucking-course_  he’d be able to read through you yet again and pinpoint your greatest weakness. He knows,  _out of all people_ , Lee Taemin knows exactly what runs through your mind and who owns your heart when even the receiver of your love falls blind to it.  
  
Your hatred for him rushes back in full force, making your face heat up with red and your vision cloud up out of nothing but sheer anger. He is, by all means, nothing but a mere scapegoat, a target available for you to pour on all of your animosity.  
  
“I don’t need your sympathy,” it’s what wheezes through your gritted teeth as you try with all your might to not lash out at him.  
  
“I’m not here out of empathy, ____,” he shakes his head, his eyes leaving your face to focus on the empty street in front of you, his bottom lip suddenly trapped between his teeth as he tries, yet again, to control his figure of speech.  
  
“It’s none of your business anyway. I didn’t ask for any advice.” Your words are sharp, aimed to cut through his delicate skin as much as he does with you every time he spots a weak point to target and shoot at.  
  
“I know.” The frustrated response you get leaves you baffled for this may be the very first time Taemin doesn’t have something good to retort with. And for the night, this is the second time you witness a different side of him and, in some twisted way, you find joy in discovering his most hidden aspects, just as much as he seems to enjoy yours every time he catches a new one.  
  
“I just don’t think he’s worth all the pain.” He adds after a while, his gaze still fixed on the wet bitumen, his hands hastily shoved in his pockets.  
  
“You don’t even know him.”  He smiles at your words, his expression unreadable this time, no matter how much you try to understand where he’s aiming at with his words in the hope that, for once, you can stop him from twisting the knife in the already bleeding wound.  
  
“True.” He admits, his face turning towards you so he can look into your eyes as he says his next words, “But I know you.”  
  
You laugh, you genuinely laugh at the confidence that fills his words when he declares this, the audacity of his statement almost comical to you.  
  
“You don’t know anything about me.”  
  
He takes in air and it almost looks as he’s gathering the courage to utter his next words whilst he takes a step forward, aiming to reduce the distance you put between your bodies mere minutes ago.  
  
“I know that you run low on self-esteem,” his voice is incredibly gentle and a clear juxtaposition to what his words are implying, the subtle insult held in the phrase enough to make you wince, “I know that you think you don’t deserve him but, that’s a blatant lie, ____.”  
  
His steps come to a halt once he’s standing right in front of you, his hand finding his place back on the side of your face, his touch gentle, delicate and insecure.  
  
“You’re smart and funny, you’re not afraid to stand up for what you believe in, you’re brave,” his thumb starts stroking the plumpness of your cheek right under your eye, successfully spawning nothing but turmoil inside your heart.  
  
“I also know that you look sad when you think nobody is watching you, especially when  _he_ isn’t looking at you,” his words aim to your wounds once again, spreading salt on them, “I know that you bite your lips when you’re nervous or insecure; I know that you smile whenever you know the perfect answer to the test; I know you have the habit of moving your hair behind your ear whenever you need to focus on something.”  
  
The silence envelops you as his words meet nothing but big eyes in return for, it is only then and there that you realize how much time he has spent watching you, studying you, learning all the little details about you.  
  
“You’re every bit as beautiful as  _she_  is, princess.” His eyes drop to your lips for a second and the moment you notice this you tell yourself you should step back, you shouldn’t let him come any closer because nothing good will come out of it. “Damn, I’d say you’re even gorgeous.”  
  
This should be the moment you open your eyes, realize the absurdity of the dream and forever forget it ever happened, even if only in the unconscious deepest recesses of your mind. But you don’t wake up and his warm breath is far too realistic to belong in the dream realm.  
  
“Do you say this to every girl you want to take home?” is what you choose to say instead of taking a step back and brazenly reject him.  
  
“Only to the ones I like.”  
  
The sudden confession shouldn’t turn your world upside down and make your heart beat so fast, but it does. And you don’t know anymore if you should blame the alcohol still or your emotions being all over the place but, his words affect you in a way you didn’t deem possible for anyone else other than Jimin.  
  
“You know I’m not like that,” his forehead touches yours as he says so, his nose brushing against the tip of your own, the contact brief and full of uncertainty for he hasn’t figured out yet what has stirred inside of you at his words.  
  
Truth be told, you do know that. Lee Taemin doesn’t screw around. It is a given fact that has landed him many gossips wondering about his real sexuality – a fact that he decided to never address as either true or false. So, when every other rich entitled kid falls into the category of the fuck-boy, Taemin stands exactly on the opposite end of the spectrum.  
  
Maybe it’s that thought that keeps you standing in place, maybe it’s the need to feel wanted, for once, maybe it’s even the fact that you’re tired of feeling alone in a room full of people. Or maybe you even actually like him. You don’t know and, for once, you decide that you don’t care about the consequences, you don’t care about how this is going to affect not only you but also his feelings, you just simply stop thinking and live in the moment. Just for once.  
  
And it’s in the span of that few seconds you spent considering your course of action that he touches your lips with his own, his mouth soft and warm against yours, your insides twitching blissfully at the mere contact.  
  
His left arm moves around you and encircles your back dragging you closer to the heat that his body provides, his other hand still firmly pressed against your face, cupping your jaw as he guides you towards him.  
  
His kiss is gentle at first, a sheer test to see if you’ll let him take it a step forward or not and, when you open your mouth for him, he takes it as a queue to deepen the kiss and lock your tongue with his own. You’re overwhelmed by the way he claims every bit of you he can reach, humming as he gets to taste you for the very first time, the aftertaste of mint in his mouth mixing with the strong whiff of rum that resides in your own as much as in your stomach.  
  
You instinctively lift your head up to search for his lips as soon as he ends the kiss, his forehead pressed against your own as he catches his breath, the smile on his face almost dazzling as he pecks your mouth again, and again, ever so softly and, bewildering enough, very sweetly.  
  
“Taemin…” the whisper that leaves your mouth makes him sigh in return, his eyes closing as he licks his lips in what you believe is an attempt to keep your taste impressed in his memory.  
  
“I know,” he whispers back, his dark eyes locking on your own once again, his expression one of marble again: impenetrable and stoic.  
  
“I just want a fair chance, nothing more.” You tell yourself that you should say no, that it was fun to indulge in the flattery his attention provided but that, ultimately, you cannot bash in it any longer for, even though you claim to despise him, you do not wish to hurt his feelings more than you already did.  
  
You take a step back, his arms falling to his side as his eyes flicker with a hint of sadness in them that successfully stir guilt to form in the pit of your stomach for allowing the kiss in the first place.  
  
You’re adamant about doing what is right, even though it’s not what’s best for  _you_ , and whilst you struggle to find the right words to say,  _he_  finds his way back to you.  
  
“____!” his voice rings through the silence of the night, as loud as a bell, and it breaks the tension between you and Taemin like a rock hitting the water.  
  
Jimin stands there, his skin almost glowing now that it’s basked in the dim moonlight, his eyes flickering from you and Taemin, his expression harsh once he realizes who the person standing right next to you is.  
  
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he states, taking a step forward.  
You almost smile at his words – that relentless hope finding its way back in your heart – before your eyes catch the outline of someone else, right behind your best friend.  
  
The smile dies on your features before it even gets the chance to appear for, the person half covered by the darkness of the night is your one and only rival: Seulgi.  
  
“I needed some fresh air,” your tone falls flat as you give him an explanation he doesn’t need nor has asked for whilst your gaze moves back on him, the torment you felt mere moments ago coming back in all its furor.  
  
Jimin bites his lip almost harshly whilst Taemin takes a step forward, his arm touching your own to give it an encouraging squeeze for which you are extremely grateful. You didn’t realize the tension in your body until he touched you again, bringing back comfort in your system, always so attentive to the constant but almost imperceptible changes in your demeanor.  
  
“Come here, ____.”  
  
Jimin’s voice is strained as he takes a step forward – his eyes fixed on Taemin’s arm, still brushing against your skin – his hand protruding to grab your wrist and attract you towards him.  
  
“Step away from him.” His voice gets harsher with each ticking second you spend still rooted in place, right next to the man you were believed to detest.  
“Why should I?” it’s what leaves your mouth, Jimin’s eyes bulging out at the capriciousness laced in your words for it represents a first time for the both of you. You never questioned him, not once, whenever he’d act as an impendent danger laid upon you. This time, though, something venomous has infiltrated both your heart and mind.  
  
“He’s dangerous.” He whispers through gritted teeth, the words meant for only you to hear but, in the stillness of the night, they still ring loud enough for not only Taemin and Seulgi to pick up on but, most importantly, for the small group of students by the door, ready to gather the new gossip and report it to the whole district.  
  
At his words, you should be running, hiding behind him, seeking protection. Normally, you would.  This night, you keep standing there, almost transfixed in your position, refusing to comply as a child would and God, you do almost feel like one. You don’t know where the stubbornness comes from, you don’t know what is preventing you from just doing what he says when you were about to reject him anyway. All you know is that all of this, all your decisions and behavior are nothing but puerile to the very core.  
  
“He’s charcoal black,____, come here.” He hisses, looking around with a pained expression as he takes in the people that rushed outside to witness the “clash of the year”, the prospect of exposing his secret and return to a life filled with snickers and insults still not dreadful enough to stop him from trying to protect you.  
  
It’s a thought that almost makes you happy for, even if it is not love, he still cares for you dearly, so much so he’s ready to give up all he worked on for a whole year. Yet, your mind fixes upon the fact that, of all people,  _he_  has to be the dangerous one. Of course, the first person who genuinely liked you, the first person who tried to approach you and actually get to know you, has to be a bad person _. Of-fucking-course,_  you had to be so unlucky to find the blackest soul out there and attract it to your own.  _Hell_ , you could have expected it already for, nothing makes more sense than him finding the perfect sunrise and you, the pitch darkness of hell.  
  
It is nothing you should be mad at him for but,  _damn_ , you are. Because why aren’t you allowed to make a terrible mistake? Why should you stay away from him just because he tells you so? Why,  _why_ , why would you have to remain stuck in a friendship that will never evolve into something that truly matches the deepness of your feelings?  
  
“Black is my new favorite color.”  
  
“For the love of God, ____!” his hand grabs your wrist, his grip so firm it’s almost painful, and he yanks you forward, his other arm encircling your shoulders so he can prevent you from escaping his grasp.  
  
“His soul is as black as an abyss. Do you understand what I’m saying?” he searches for your eyes, his arm leaving your shoulders so he can cup your face with his hand, “His aura is like coal flames dancing all around him and I’ve never seen something like that before.”  
  
Uneasiness spreads through your entire being but you still firmly refuse to believe him. Not this time. It just can’t be. These are the thoughts that run in your mind and it doesn’t make any sense at all to not trust your best friend, not when he hasn’t done anything to make you doubt him before, but the will to deem his words as a ridiculous lie is stronger than anything else.  
  
You jerk your arm towards your chest trying to get free of his grasp, but he doesn’t budge, in fact, he tightens his grip around the delicate flesh, the pressure so severe you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise.  
  
“Stop being stupid and listen to me!” you never heard Jimin scream in your life before. At least, not to you. He was always a placid kid, never starting a fight unless he had to defend himself, and even in that case, he had never been aggressive. “He can hurt you,” he whispers whilst gulping audibly, his discomfort making a shiver run up your spine.  
  
“You’re the one hurting me,” your voice trembles as you miserably look into his eyes. It is not only the pain that affects your body but also, primarily even, the one that affects the heart – the pain he doesn’t know of and can do absolutely nothing about – that you use as a weapon against him.  
  
“Ok, I think that’s enough.” The glacial tone that permeates through Taemin’s words cuts through you and Jimin like a blade. “Let her go or I’ll make you.”  
  
You don’t know if Jimin lets go of you because of Taemin’s word or because you said he was hurting you but, in the heat of the moment, you don’t care nor stop to address the matter by any means. What you do, in fact, is grab Taemin’s hand and press your body against his side, your eyes finally falling on all the people around you and the way they whisper to each other.  
  
What you catch are nothing but insults, dreadful hypothesis about what exactly is wrong with Park Jimin and you’d like to yell at them to shut their pretty mouths but, you realize, you’re the one that put the venom there. You’re the craftsman of it all.  
  
 _Is he crazy? – Damn that dude is really tripping hard – What the fuck are auras? – Is he high? – I heard that he had a mental breakdown before – He must be really crazy to go against Taemin.  
  
_ “Take me home.”  
  
You watch the color drain from Jimin’s cheek, you watch him open his mouth to say something,  _anything_ , to stop you from making this mistake but, in the end, he doesn’t utter a single word. He just watches you leave – your hand intertwined with Taemin’s for a second more before you mount on his Steve McQueen’s – not spearing him even one last glance.  
  
The moment your arms encircle him, your face fully hidden in the expanse of his back, the lump in your throat returns making even air too thick to go past it.  
You try to disregard all thoughts of him away but the look on his face as you leave him keeps tormenting you every time you do as much as blink your eyes.   
  
You can’t stop thinking about how his gaze flickered from Taemin to you, his expression darkening whilst he focused on the light surrounding your head, pensive, confused. It leaves you wondering if something changed in the core of your aura at the mere contact with someone as dark as he claims Taemin is.  
  
You almost let go of Taemin, the impulse to run into Jimin’s arms and apologize becoming more vehement each second you spend thinking about all he said.  
  
But there’s this other side of you, the one that tells you this may be the first and only chance you get to disentangle yourself from him. That this may be the only way for you to become your own person again and find a path that is only yours and not an additional road to his.  
  
The engine roars beneath you and you close your eyes as the motorcycle moves forward, your lips trembling with each meter the vehicle devours, every ticking minute turning into sheer torment because, for the first time,  _you_ are the oneleaving  _him_  behind. For the first time,  _you_ are the oneturning your back on  _him_. And it hurts –  _damn_ , it hurts.

* * *

 

_The fresh fabric of the red Scottish skirt brushes against your naked thighs as you run down the half-empty street, the clock ticking way too fast as you hit the hard cement in a vain attempt to make it in time for your first lesson.  
  
_ _The heavy bag on your shoulders hits your back in a tumultuous fashion as you dash forward, your breathing fast and shallow as you eat the meters that divide you from the school’s gate.  
  
_ _As too many times before, you do not make it in time and you’re forced to skip the first class and ask for an authorization from the dean.  
  
_ _When you enter the class, your head low in shame as you reaffirm your title of the always-late student of the year, if not of all times, you do not notice the change in the classroom arrangement.  
  
_ _You take each step without looking where you’re going and that’s the reason why you jump back surprised when you find someone else sitting in your usual seat.  
  
_ _You lift your eyes and meet the sheepish smile of Kwon Sohyun, your new assignment’s partner – as she gladly informs you.  
  
_ _It’s with a stiff smile that you sit down right next to her, in the place that usually belongs to Jimin, your best friend. Lifting your eyes, you search for him in the classroom and a true smile finds its place on your face as soon as you find his delicate features looking right in your direction. His smile his genuine but you do not miss the dark light in his eyes as he looks right next to you, studying the aura that swirls around the girl that you’re going to sit next to for a pretty fair number of months.  
  
_ _You find that Sohyun is very easy to talk to and it’s in a span of mere hours that you find yourself already liking her. She’s funny, quick in understanding things and she seems to genuinely like you which, to be fair, is a first – if you exclude Park Jimin from the equation, that is.  
  
_ _You’d usually walk out of the gates with your best friend but, that day, you find yourself walking with your new ‘friend’, almost forgetting about Jimin’s presence in the classroom. It is not until he calls out your name that you realize you almost left without him.  
  
_ _“Hey, can we talk?” his eyes fix on the ground as he says so, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth in uneasiness.  
  
_ _“Sure?” you tilt your head to the side searching for his eyes, “Is everything okay?”  
  
_ _He hums in response before giving a brief look at Sohyun’s direction.  
  
_ _“Oh,” you whisper looking at the girl next to you as well. You’re met with doe eyes and a little-confused smile as she watches the interaction without a single clue of what is happening.  
  
_ _“Can we talk in private?” Jimin fidgets on his two feet and it stirs something uncomfortable in your insides for he was never that nervous in front of you.  
  
_ _“Sohyun is ok,” you whisper, glancing back at him with a reassuring smile on your lips.  
  
_ _A part of you already knows, or at least suspects, what he’s about to say and that’s precisely why you insist for him to tell you in front of her. Because that part of you also wishes to be wrong and that you were lucky enough to find someone new to call friend.  
  
_ _“Can you…” his words die down as he eyes Sohyun before locking gazes with you, “Can you step away from her?”  
  
_ _His words hit you with the force of a bucket of iced water because all your fears become reality with that simple question.  
  
_ _You do not hesitate, though, and take a step towards him to put distance between you and the girl that fell short under his scrutiny.  
  
_ _“Why?” it’s Sohyun’s peachy voice that breaks the silence, her brows almost knitted together as she takes a step forward to reaffirm her previous position.  
_ _Jimin doesn’t look at her but focuses entirely on you, his eyes almost begging as he grasps your hand whilst other students gather around the odd scene.  
  
_ _“She’s dangerous,” he states, his body becoming rigid with each passing second he stands under the eyes of half the student body.  
  
_ _“Says who?” Sohyun almost shrieks, her eyes bulging out of their sockets as she fails to comprehend what is really laced inside Jimin’s words.  
  
_ _“How so?” is what you whisper, your eyes fixing on the curb as you feel sadness spreading in your heart.  
  
_ _“She’s rouge noir.” It’s his curt reply and it may as well be a stab to the heart.  
_ _You nod whilst your lips protrude naturally into a pout you have no possibility to cover.  
  
_ _“Oh, My, God!” Sohyun grabs your wrist and yanks you towards her, anger filling her features as her eyes land on Jimin.  
  
_ _“Is this your crap about auras or whatever it is that you think you’re seeing?” the question that leaves her mouth hurts you as much as you think it hurts Jimin.  
  
_ _Her words cut like the finest blades and you fight with her to release your arm from her firm grip.  
  
_ _“____!” she looks at you shocked as she tries to get a hold of you once again. “Don’t you see what he’s doing to you?!” she yells in full bewilderment as she looks around to seek the help of your other classmates.  
  
_ _“There’s nothing wrong with you. The only reason you’re stuck in a life with no friends is that you stick around that weirdo!”  
  
_ _Her words keep cutting, slashing the flesh open, making you wince with the malice held in them and, for a millisecond, it almost seems to you like you can see that cloud of dark red enveloping her, making all the more clear the true nature of her character.  
  
_ _“Don’t call him that!” you yell in return, your feet moving without you realizing and, before you know it, your hands get tangled in her hair and they pull and pull until she cries in pain and Jimin has to drag you away._ _“I don’t care about what she said,” he reassures you as he keeps walking whilst holding you in his arms so you don’t run back to her.  
  
_ _You don’t know how he can discard her words and everyone else’s snickers so easily. You don’t know why he doesn’t get mad or fight against all of them.  
  
_ _You can hear, even with quite a few meters between you and the group of students standing in the middle of the courtyard, her voice still screaming at the both of you supported not only by her friends but by most of your other classmates. Their words are mean, meant to clash and destroy, and they fill your heart with nothing but pain and anger.  
  
_ _“I’m used to it and I don’t care.”  
  
_ _His next words are what successfully stops you from fighting against him. Your body almost falls lax in his arms and you let him guide you away without uttering a single word.  
  
_ _It hurts, so much, to think that he has given up on humanity by now. Eleven years spent like this, not being accepted, have turned him into someone who will never open himself up to anyone else ever again. And that’s a thought that hurts you for he does not deserve such a treatment.  
  
_ _That’s the first time you swear to yourself you’re never going to leave him. No matter what he’ll say or do. You’ll always believe him, you’ll always protect and you will always, always, stay by his side._ If only you had kept that promise.

 


End file.
